


A Night Encounter

by JustAWritingAmateur



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAWritingAmateur/pseuds/JustAWritingAmateur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As she takes the sight of it all in, him in her bedroom, thirsting for her body, as he drops her hand and sits on the edge of her bed, it is as if she has never seen her room before."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night Encounter

She looks down at him, standing on her doorstep in his heavy dark coat with his large doe eyes and before she can say anything, he takes her face into his hands and then he is kissing her, kissing her into coiled fire, his lips unrelenting, sweet, unyielding. 

She drops her keys in surprise; they clatter to the ground as his lips leave hers for a moment, brush against her neck, sucking on her earlobe; she can feel his wry smile. All the while she seems to have gone completely fluid in his arms while he backs them into her apartment and lifts one hand from her to push the door shut behind him in one swift motion. 

The brambles of his beard scratch against her cheeks, her chin, as he returns to kissing her throat with utmost care. She becomes increasingly aware of something hard, deliciously hard, against her thigh, and then her hands rise to his shoulders and she is sliding off his coat, lifting her lips from his in order to nibble on his neck; the way he catches his breath, so delicately and so needy, makes her skin spark under his touch.

And then suddenly they are on her couch and somehow he is on top of her and his fingertips are trailing up her inner thighs, making her almost pant, and her fingers dip under the collar of his shirt before traveling up to his dark curls. She clutches at the surprisingly soft mass of hair as his free hand plays with the buttons on her blouse, and then his palm is on her breast and then, oh god, her skirt is bunched up around her waist, his fingertips moving ever upwards until she wants to just scream for him to stop playing around, you bastard, just touch me already. She feels his wicked smile, his quiet laugh against her neck, and then his other hand is making endless circles on her breast, over her shirt and then his hand is back to the buttons, sliding them out of the buttonholes one by one, and then he is sitting up, straddling her, and pulling her out of her shirt, eyes growing even darker and deeper with lust as he regards her in her bra.

He buries his face between her breasts and sighs in beautiful anguish, a sigh that touches her in all the right places, the place where his hand is not, and then he is sliding her skirt off her hips and letting it drop to the floor, and then his lips, his beard, are on her belly and trailing lower. She bites her lip to suppress a grunt as she feels his hands snake around her thighs, caress her rear, hoist up her hips. His teeth scrape against her inner thighs, his beard tickling her soft flesh, and then suddenly he’s pulled aside her panties and his mouth is on her and oh, god, her thoughts coalesce into one colorful blur, punctuated by staccato breaths and all she can feel is him.

It’s not long before the pleasure sharpens and peaks, and then she cannot see anything in her mind’s eye for the briefest of moments, and then it is over and she is breathing hard, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him with a mixture of awe and delight.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmurs in his quiet way, a smile tugging at his lips as he crooks one finger under her panties and brushes against her teasingly.

As he presses his lips to hers, more gently this time, she feels his need pressed against her inner thigh, and manages to sputter out, “bedroom. Now.”

And then he is taking her by the hand and leading her to her own bedroom. As she takes the sight of it all in, him in her bedroom, thirsting for her body, as he drops her hand and sits on the edge of her bed, it is as if she has never seen her room before. Every sensation is heightened, from the carpet she treads on to the faint scent of something sweet she’d put in a diffuser and then forgotten about, and then he is splayed on her bed, watching her with a strangely gentle smile as she undoes his belt and tosses it aside. 

And then he rolls them over until he is on top of her, her legs bending around his back, and then he is inside her and god, did she need that as much as she’s ever needed anything as he whispers the most wonderful dirty things in her ears, all the things he’s wanted to do to her for so long, things that make her toes curl. As he starts to increase his rhythm she cannot suppress a giggle, for that is who she is; she loves to laugh during sex, and she kisses his neck and feels his chin bob up and down as he catches her contagious laughter. And then she’s seeing stars again, and she feels him bite down on her shoulder with a groan as he is spent, and she joins him momentarily in the downward whirl, the rush back to Earth.

They lie together on her bed, side by side, catching their breaths in tandem; his pinky finger twines around hers, and her heartbeat fills her ears with drumming as a bead of sweat trickles on her forehead.

He turns towards her, and she towards him; he presses his forehead against his as she breaks into an honest-to-god grin, because here he is, her best friend in the world, the person who knows her as intimately as she does, and he is here with her, choosing her above all others this time.

He whispers into her hair, “love you, Claudia Jean.”

It is then that she wakes up in her empty bed, and sighs in remorse for things that can never, shall never be.


End file.
